Five Times Feanor Told Dad Jokes
by RedCoatsRedder
Summary: That's it that's the story. Five times Feanor tells his sons dad jokes. I had to okay, this guy totally invented the dad joke. I mean he has seven sons.


**I'm so sorry there's no accents my computer is** difficult.

His children were always hungry. Literally always. He woke up in the morning and either he or Nerdanel would make breakfast, his sons would eat what must be their weight in food. They would go and wrestle, ride, play harps or games or what-have-you, and then it would be time for lunch and they'd be hungry again. Rinse, repeat, and it was dinner.

Of course, he loved them all to the ends of Arda and back. Valar knew he was just the same when he was younger, particularly at Maedhros's age. And his eldest was growing like a weed. He was nearly surpassing his father in height, and Feanor was on the tall side even for an elf.

Tonight, it was his turn to cook dinner. Nerdanel was wrapping things up in her studio, and Feanor was preparing food for their family.

He was stirring a pot of sauce when Caranthir came into the kitchen, dragging his feet.

"Ata." he moaned, "I'm hungry."

He wasn't going to say it. He wasn't. It wasn't even that funny. It barely counted as a joke. He wouldn't say it. It wasn't even a tasteful joke, at that.

But the opportunity felt too good to pass up, and try as he might he couldn't hold back his smile as he opened his mouth.

"Hi Hungry, I'm Ata."

Not only did Caranthir groan, but in the rooms beyond he could his other six sons making similar sounds of exasperation. Even Nerdanel, who had just happened to walk into the kitchen right as he said the joke, shook her head and sighed.

"Don't worry dear, your father's almost done cooking." A teasing spark filled her eyes and she grinned at him. "Hopefully his food is better than his jokes."

Her laughter covered up his sounds of mock-indignation.

His sons were all talented. It was something Feanor loved bragging about to anyone who would listen, and he loved seeing the fruits of their labors, or in Maglor's case, listening to them.

Maglor had recently begun a phase of composing music for just about any instrument he could get his hands on, but his favorite was the harp. He kept the large instrument in the family room, where there was plenty of space for it and them. He often gave concerts of his work to his brothers and parents.

Now, he had dragged Feanor to the room to get his opinion on a newly finished piece. Feanor sat on a chaise and waited to hear what he was sure would be an amazing composition. Maglor had a habit of outdoing all his previous works with his newest one, and Feanor couldn't be prouder of him.

This new song was beautiful. They always were. He would never understand how, but the music captured the way the light shone off rippling water and filtered through the tree branches. It spun the feeling of wind in your hair as you stood before the ocean and let the waves lap at your feet, the peace of Varda's stars at night, and the high peaks of distant mountains into something tangible, written down on paper and released again in the performance.

He had long wondered if his son's music wasn't just strains of the Great Music left over from when the world was very young. But then again, he did have amazing children.

When Maglor finished, it felt as though he should be somewhere far from his house, and he blinked a few times, disoriented.

"What do you think, Ata? Did you like it?" Maglor was looking at him eagerly.

"It was incredible, Kano. You've outdone yourself yet again." Feanor stood and ruffled his son's hair affectionately. "You're by far the best musician I've ever heard. I think the Ainur themselves must be jealous of you."

Maglor beamed at him. "I was thinking, some of the grace notes-"

Feanor couldn't help himself. He really shouldn't. But the words were on his tongue and it was too late.

"You were thinking? I thought I smelled something burning."

His son scowled. "Very funny, Ata."

It was. Sort of. Feanor thought it was, anyways. He laughed, pressing a kiss to Maglor's head. "I know, I'm hilarious. My humor is almost as good as your music."

It was probably normal for small children to go through phases of being obsessed with spooky things. Probably. Anyways, the twins were constantly asking for whatever scary tale Feanor could concoct, be it those his father had told him, or ones he made up on the spot.

Tonight, they were sitting in their beds clutching at the covers as he told them tales of werewolves and vampires, and demons of ancient fire who lurked in the darkness with terrible horns and claws and whips.

Nerdanel was going to be so mad at him when they inevitably came running into their bedroom in the middle of the night, dreams filled with all the monsters from his story.

But they looked at him with so much fascination in their faces that he caved every time, and against his better judgement told them more stories.

He'd just finished one about a terrifying vampiress who lurked in the mountains (completely fictional, this time) when he noticed that they looked a little more spooked than they usually did. It was late after all, and the night was cloudy. The only light came from the candles in the lamps.

"Do you want to hear a joke?" he asked, a perfect one coming to mind. It was one he'd told his little brothers to make them laugh after telling them the same story. And, the twins were too young to know what constituted good humor, as Nerdanel called anything other than his jokes.

Amrod nodded enthusiastically. He was curled up beside Amras, who always seemed to be a little more affected by his stories but begged for them all the same.

"Alright. What do you get when you cross a snowman with a vampire?" He broke into a grin, unable to contain himself.

"An icicle?" Amras suggested. Amrod giggled.

"A snow-bat!"

"No, that's dumb! What is it, Ata?"

"Frostbite!" Feanor nearly doubled over laughing. The twins giggled, though he got the feeling that it was mostly because they were laughing at him. That's what had made his little brothers laugh, anyways.

He blew out the lamps, and said final goodnights. As he shut the door, he heard Amras explaining the joke to his brother.

"'Cause vampires bite you, and when you get really cold the cold bites you too! Nelyo told me about that."

He had the best children in all of Arda, no doubt about it.

Feanor had decided to cut his hair. Maybe it wasn't the best idea, and it was probably an even worse idea to let Fingolfin do it, but it was done and that was that.

It didn't look all that bad, honestly. It hung just below his ears, not quite reaching his shoulders. There were a couple choppy spots, but for the most part, it was even. Fingolfin had done a decent job. Besides, now it wouldn't get in his way in the forge. And it would grow back, at the very least.

But his father certainly wasn't all that pleased with it.

The first person he encountered with his newly shorn locks was his eldest son. Maedhros was halfway up the stairs with a book in his hands, likely going back to his room to read after raiding the family library. He turned when the door opened, and blinked at his father in surprise.

"Ata? Did you-did you get your hair cut?"

The words jumped out of his mouth before he could think. "No, my dear Nelyo, I got them all cut!"

Maedhros groaned, and ran up the rest of the stairs, his father's laughter following him.

The fire was burning bright in the hearth. All was well. Feanor was reading, Nerdanel was sitting beside him polishing a little stone statue of a pair of birds. The twins were asleep on top of Maedhros, who was snoring slightly. Celegorm was helping Curufin with a rhyming game in the corner. From upstairs, the gentle notes of Maglor's harp echoed down to them.

It was a peaceful night. Outside, snow was coming down gently. One of those times when all feels right with the world.

Feanor sighed contentedly and pulled the blanket he was sharing with his wife a little tighter.

"Ata, Nana." Celegorm called. "What rhymes with orange?"

"No it doesn't." Feanor answered, turning the page.

The room went silent save for the echoes of the harp and a particularly loud snore from Maedhros. Celegorm tilted his head to the side in confusion.

"I know it doesn't, Ata, I was asking what does." His brow furrowed as he figured out the joke, and then he groaned. "That was bad, Atar."

Curufin was still little, and he looked at his big brother in confusion.

"Ata made a bad joke, Curvo." Celegorm explained. Nerdanel looked from her husband to her sons, still trying to figure out what the joke had been.

Feanor could pinpoint the exact moment she understood. She groaned and rolled her eyes, a smile on her face as she shoved him off the couch. He landed on the floor in a heap, laughing uproariously.

"Sporange rhymes with orange, boys. My father told me the same joke when I was little." she told their sons. "And yes, it's a real word."

Feanor did not hear this over the sound of his own laughter, nor did he see Nerdanel rolling her eyes at him again, a fond smile on her face.


End file.
